Perks of Anarchy
by Kam I Am
Summary: What begins as a simple perimeter check quickly boils over into an escapade full of tomb raids, civil war, and a race against time.


**I**

**6 BBY**

**Lok**

**Deep Space**

The novelty of lightspeed travel never seemed to wear thin on Silus Ramel. The concept that a ship could be outfitted with an engine capable of bending the inner-workings of physics to its whim was a hard one to grasp - harder still when raised on the technologically-devoid planet of Alaris Prime.

Still, if there was one thing he had learned in the twelve years since watching his woodland fossil of a homeworld burn it was that he had to accept such things quickly. Case in point: his current employment with the "reformed" pirates of Lok's Revenants. Had he not gone along with the group's leader that day, kicking and screaming as he watched Imperial Blaze Troopers incinerate his home village, it was doubtful he would presently be sitting within the confines of his Toscan starfighter.

_Let alone be marveling about something as simple as Hyperspace travel..._

Gratitude surged through him at the thought, warming his heart as much as his graying compression suit did his frigid appendages. Sector guarding for the Revenants was never fun, doubly so when done alone and without the warmth of Lok's sun bearing down on the back of his aging snubfighter. It was night time on one side of the world, morning on the other, but here, with the arid planet angled somewhere between ship and sun, neither for him.

As bothersome as it was for the pilot, Silus' starcraft did little in the way of acknowledging its current surroundings. Beyond the creepings of frost that inched further upon the cockpit's trilateral surface there was nothing to suggest the change in temperature. External readouts remained near constant, dipping only occasionally due to the flitting of dust against the ship's rusty hull.

Initially, Silus thought it strange that _dust_ would be the thing to alter his tactical displays, but coupling knowledge with the sight that lay up ahead explained all. As he continued forth, carving past the pinpricks of stars, an emerald hue began to peer out over the front of his craft's viewscreen. At first subtle, the ribbon of viridian began to stretch out all at once, wafting into a kaleidoscope of dust, color, and Tibanna gas.

A Nebula.

The Ignis Nebula was best described as an extension of Lok itself. It was common knowledge that the planet's arid and, in some places, molten surfaces were a direct result of the nimbus that remained ever-present as a scorching strip within the skies. Had Silus not grown to accept it - as he did everything - it was likely he'd still treat it as the cancer to the planet that it was.

Opinions seemed to vary on that front, however. Some of the Revenant's other "reformers" had declared the sight to be the planet's own personal mood ring. One could tell a great many things about Lok based purely on the complexion of the overhanging vapor cloud that day. Sandstorms were near certain when its hue began to deepen, dust outpouring from nebula to planet, but if it began to diminish in size or intensity it was a good indication that water vapor was increasing and that rain was soon to be on the way.

Here, with the same murky rays of green blaring down upon his starcraft, its appearance meant little. What was more concerning was the orb of grey that had suddenly materialized from within the viridescent veil. Upon closer inspection he realized it was not an orb at all, but a rounded star cruiser, perhaps 40 meters in length. The deafening boom that followed its appearance confirmed his suspicions that it had just dropped from Hyperspace.

The distance between aging Toscan Starfighter and medium-class frigate was closing, much faster than Silus would have preferred. With one hand cautiously hovering over the turret controls, the other brushed brown locks away from his forehead and met the voice-activator on his headset.

"Unidentified craft, this is Rev Four of the Lok Defense Force. You've entered a secure sector of the Karthakk System, state your name and business."

Muffled static was all that greeted his expectant ears.

"Repeat, this is Rev Four of the -" He caught himself mid-sentence, the unknown vessel skimming close enough for a multitude of Imperial insignias to appear visible on its underbelly. His heart thumped in time to the increasing pangs of his scanner's readouts, the crescendo of noise making it all too clear that the frigate's pilot had no intentions of stopping. It came hurtling forward instead, its conical hull slicing through the position his ship had sat just moments prior.

Silus found himself wrestling against his craft's inertial compensators as a result, an instinct-driven barrel roll doing its best to give him whiplash. The daring maneuver cost him more than it gained, ventral fins and assorted fuselage sailing away as the opposing vessels' hulls met for a painstaking moment. Had he not had the foresight to stabilize by overpowering his repulsor engines then and there it was likely that he would have been left to drift away, vanishing into the looming abyss that was Deep Space.

Instead, Silus was buoyed by the golden planet's gravitational pull, a growing trail of his ship's innards forming behind him as he watched the cruiser mow past him. For a moment he worried that the frigate was coming back around for a second pass, but the fact that no lasers had been exchanged calmed his worries. They were dispensed altogether when a sudden cough of exhaust from the engines indicated the frigate's new destination - planet-side.

This brought more pressing matters to the forefront. An Imperial hurtling towards the ground was worse than an Imperial in the sky. An Imperial with a purpose - and one willing to ram into him certainly qualified - was worst of all.

If he didn't warn the others now, there would be no "others" to warn.

* * *

**Thirty Minutes Later**

**Lok**

**Base Verum**

For the head of a planet-wide outlaw force, a surprising number of virtues had been instilled within the Feeorin pirate known simply as Nym.

"DAMN IT, RETI! IF YOU MAKE ME HOLD THIS KRIFFING HATCH UP ONE MINUTE LONGER, I'LL -"

Patience was not among them.

"Look, I can fix this the quick way or I can fix it the _right_ way," an irritated voice echoed from the durasteel cabin beneath him. "And I don't think I have to remind you what happened the last time we cut corners. We were scrubbing bantha poodoo out of the main cell for -"

"Just... Hurry it up, Reti," Nym interrupted, voice straining as his muscular form struggled to keep hold of the hatchway meters from crushing his Toydarian friend down below.

From afar it became clearer what exactly the pair was doing. One would first see Nym's imposing figure huddling over a maintenance bay at the base of a towering Ion Cannon - the Inferno Turret as he and the other Revenant's called it. Eyes would then be drawn across the expanse of sand, spying a ring of canyons that interclosed the Turret and the varied denizens that lurked nearby. Upon closer inspection, a series of tents and makeshift hangars etched into the side of the canyons would become visible, only a small indication of the intricate series of tunnels that encompassed their surroundings.

While it was true that Base Verum had seen better times, the pirate could envision no place more fitting to stage his "Empire-free" society.

"Nym, pass me down a hydrospanner," Reti's demanding tone bringing the pirate away from his moment of self-reflection, and back to the fact that he was heaving a hunk of metal several times his weight. He strained his neck downwards to meet the requester. A blueish visage was there to greet him, wrinkles painting what a hooked snout could not. With his own eyes reduced to slits in an attempt to cope with the lifting it seemed as if he was looking at a mirror reflection of himself. They appeared to be a similar tint of steel blue, a liter of tattoos to be found on both their persons.

What they shared in skin tone they lacked in just about everything else, rather it was in height (Nym towering over two meters with Reti hardly able to scratch one), or one's species-inhabiting right to wings, or the fact that Reti ran circles around him in terms of technical know-how. Which meant that when the winged munchkin asked for a hydrospanner, it was typically a good idea to give him one.

It was with a simple kick that the requested tool was granted to his friend's expectant talons, his own hands still preoccupied with keeping the Toydarian un-flattened.

"Took you long enough," Reti murmured with a grin before vanishing back within the Ion Cannon. Nym found slight amusement in the exchange as well, it was rare that the Toydarian found the courage to mouth off to him. Given the current state of the Inferno Turret, however, there was a fair bit that the Revenants' Leader would allow. A simple display of the Turret's ferocity for some of the Base's newer recruits had resulted in a week's worth of repairs. It was a fair price to pay after the twenty years of service the piece of ship-disabling artillery had given him.

Any admiration would have to be saved for another time, however, as one of the spectators for said display was fast approaching him. The man in question clearly had something important to say, sprinting towards him with flight gear still adorned - presumably he had just come from a perimeter check.

"What can I do for you, Mr... ?"

"Ramel," the fair-skinned teenager wheezed, only now within earshot. "Silus Ramel."

"Right," Nym replied, nodding as far as his strained neck would allow him. "If you weren't hiding underneath all that headgear I'd probably of noticed."

"Uh, sorry," Silus said sheepishly, removing his helmet as he did so."It's just as I was doing my sector patrol I came across something - some sort of unidentified vessel."

The Feeorin took a moment to respond, somewhat deep in contemplation. "Probably just a faulty satellite, there's been more of those recently..."

"Satellites typically aren't decked out with Imperial Insignias, sir."

"Wait, _what_-," Nym stuttered, relinquishing his death grip on the plating for the slightest of moments. A yelp elicited from within the cannon's main crevice in response, Nym catching the hatch moments before Reti could be crushed beneath it.

"Get out of there Reti, we might just have more important things to worry about now."

Begrudgingly, the Toydarian did as requested, fluttering out of the maintenance bay on tattered wings. It was with a sigh of relief that Nym finally relinquished his hold on the hatch, but another of despair that he began his next conversation.

"Start from the beginning, kid. I want it all."

Silus did as requested, explaining the Imperial's drop from Hyperspace and the altercation that followed. He was sure to leave out the bits about his philosophizing on lightspeed and the Ignis Nebula.

"The engines only flared on for a second when he reached the atmosphere, the ship wasn't so much flying as it was drifting," Silus suddenly noted, after several moments of pause between the trio.

"Could've been a droid piloting," Reti offered, scratching his whiskers in contemplation. "Or something pre-programmed. A lot of crafts have automated fail safes now if they get too close to the ground."

"You said there were no heat signatures, didn't you?"

The pilot offered a shrug."Not _technically_. I assumed it was because it was moving too fast for my scanners to pick up - it did just drop out of Hyperspace, but I guess it's possible there wasn't anyone aboard."

"Well, we can't take any risks. Intentional or not, one run-in with the Empire is all it takes for our operations to be shut done here," Nym responded, Silus' answer clearly not giving the resounding note of confidence that he was looking for.

"Then let's just go in and bomb what's left of them." The tone in the younger man's voice doing nothing to hide the fact that he was still highly uneased by the encounter.

"Ease up, trigger-happy. We'll get this all sorted out - the soldiers aren't exactly going anywhere after a crash like that," Nym reasoned.

Silus remained unconvinced, but reluctantly offered a nod in acceptance.

"Your call then, Boss."

The note of agreement left a grin plastered on Nym's face, and a plan brewing in his mind.

"First, go get dressed out in some fatigues. Then I want you to round up five or so sand skiffers for me. Reti - you call up the other technicians and prep them."

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"To get the rest of your boarding party," Nym announced, the pirate vanishing before either of the two could raise a word in refusal.

* * *

**Training Grounds**

Most places were devoid of movement on Lok, its sands typically in a greater hurry than the inhabitants - this was not the case within one of Base Verum's main drilling chambers. Here it was common to see relentless flashes of action, a person bounding up the side of one wall before tumbling and pivot turning to the next. A rancor-sized bacta tank played host to this ricochet of motion - a series of grav-wells at the bottom of the shaft aiding in its conversion to makeshift Grav-Ball court.

Within the sphere's transparisteel parameters were four figures - one Human, a teenager garbed in the typical helmet and pads that a Grav-Ball game required, the others a series of pit droids, also properly dressed for the engagement. While three on one was near unheard of in a legitimate zero-g game, the teenager invited the challenge.

With his Grav-Ball gear doing more to weigh him down than the vast expanse of de-gravitizied air ever could, he was left free to zip and slide away from incoming danger. The much nimbler pit droids came at him with claws drawn, each one in pursuit of the dark orb tucked securely in his grip. He spun out of a particularly tricky corner, looping upwards with a singular push from the wall. With what forward momentum he still had left, he heaved the black ball, sending it soaring across the stretch and between the antennas that served as goalposts.

Far above, an intercom pinged to life, its automated voice calling out, "Jace Dallows with the first points of the game."

The lone spectator of this feat, standing meters from the glass-enclosed cylinder, nodded his approval. There was much Rhys Dallows prided about his son, the teenager's knack for improvisation most of all. Perhaps second was the overwhelming sense of innocence the fourteen year old still seemingly possessed. It took all of a moment to see behind Rhys' own facade, the inner-workings hidden behind blue eyes and a tuft of blond hair. It would be an understatement to say the ex-pilot had experienced hardship, an even greater one to say he deserved them.

Not much else came from a decade's worth of voluntary service for Naboo's Royal Security Forces. Promises made of peace had ended in everything but.

_Still_, he forcefully reminded himself. _That was in the past._

And the present appeared to be living up to its name. At the ripe age of forty-six he'd be remiss to let it slip away. Though it appeared that the room's most recent arrival would be doing their best to try and make him.

"He's got good instincts," the familiar Feeorin pirate commented, the chamber's access hatch closing behind him. "Probably gets 'em from his dad."

"Yeah, I wish," Rhys scoffed at the well known voice, eyes still trained on Jace's struggle up above. "Sounds more like something he'd get from his Mom."

"How's she doing anyways?" Nym asked, finally strolling up beside Rhys, arms crossed.

"Decided to take another trip out to Naboo, still trying to convince the in-laws to come out here... Can't believe they'd insist on staying. Especially not after seeing what Panaka and that Imperial puppet leader of theirs have done... It's just not Naboo. Not the one I fought for anyways."

The pilot stopped for a moment, recognizing the tangent he had gone off on. "Of course, they still think _we're_ the crazy ones."

Nym found a smirk creeping up his face. "A little crazy's good every once in awhile, especially when you live out on a rock like this."

"This rock's been good to us," Rhys said in defense, making Nym realize how greatly the pilot's ability to take a joke had diminished in the last twenty years. "Definitely better than I ever thought it was going to be."

"Looks like it's been extra good to him," Nym said with a gesture upwards to Jace. "Not too many kids get their own personal Grav-ball court."

"That's true," Rhys agreed with a nod. "Of course, I think he'd still rather have some other people to play with."

"I think we all do. Guess that's just one of the downfalls of being the only kid on base."

Rhys found a lump forming in his throat at the response. Not having the heart to admit to the Revenants Leader that this case would be changing in the months to come - especially when he himself hadn't come to terms with that fact. He decided it better to change the subject altogether.

"You know Nym, as much as I'd like to think you came here to talk about Jace's promising Junior Grav-Ball career, I've got a feeling there's something else you want to tell me," a knowing smile poking across the veteran pilot's face. "What's up?"

The expression in the Feeorin's eyes shot from surprise to amused understanding.

"It's more what's down, actually. A frigate crashed near Kimogila Town a couple hours back... Imperial class."

With the words spoken, Nym could already feel the mood souring.

"Imperials? _Here? _Well there goes that ten year streak..."

"We knew this was coming, Rhys. It was only a matter of time before the Empire caught on to what we were doing here."

"Let's cut the feel-good act then, Nym," Rhys said, deciding he had had enough conversation for the moment. "You and I both know why we're talking. Just tell me where to shoot and I will.

"Preferably? N_owhere_. I'm more interested in the Intel we can gather than the kill count. If we can squeeze anything out of these guys it might stop their friends from coming back for more. A lot's riding on you getting us something we can use from these guys."

"Yeah, don't worry, I've kinda gotten used to it over the years," Rhys said, only half-kidding.

Nym remained silent, electing to hand the pilot a tablet. "Any other information you need should be on this datapad."

Rhys accepted the device, scrolling through its contents. He spied mentions of a mission briefing, geographical information, and perhaps most interesting of all...

"This says _team_. Who exactly are you pairing me up with?"

Nym gleamed.

"The best of the best."

* * *

**Two Hours Later**

**Briefing Room**

A teenaged Human, a Toydarian mechanic, and a Belosar junkie.

"You know," Rhys began, pacing across the small podium he stood upon. "When Nym pulled me out of 'retirement' and told me he had gathered up a crew, he made this all sound a little more..."

"Yes? More what?" Velker urged on, the antenna-headed humanoid's voice bouncing off the walls of the cramped briefing room they found themselves in.

"Nothing." Rhys stopped. "Just... More."

"Well kriff, Rhys, sorry we're not up to par," Reti's familiar voice shot from the back of the auditorium, his face scrunched indignantly.

Realizing that he was losing his audience before the briefing even began, Rhys double backed, doing his best to diffuse the situation.

"Heeeey, that's not what I meant at all. I'm _impressed_. We're here because Nym thought we were the best guys for the job. I mean sure, he could've given us the cybernetic Wookiee, or the Bothan that knows eight forms of Echani, or the -" Rhys stopped himself. "But he didn't. You know why? Because we've got everything we need right here."

"Velker," Rhys began with a gesture in his direction, the humanoid having slouched back, his legs hanging over the next row of chairs. "I haven't met a Belosar more willing to stand against the atrocities the Empire has committed on your people, let alone one with enough demolition expertise to back it up."

From there his gaze fell upon the Toydarian that remained defiantly in the back. "Reti, we shouldn't even have to talk. How many other mechanics you think I know that I'm willing to allow work on my ship? My life's depended on you more than once now."

"And Silus," at last turning to the quiet twenty-two year old that was seated closest to him. "I know that I've been out of the Ops world for awhile now, but word is you're the best shot this monkey lizard of a facility has ever seen. We might not know each other well, but we're going to make this work."

_We're going to have to..._

The speech had done its job, the veteran pilot noticed, spying a couple reluctant nods in agreement.

"Alright," Rhys finished, clasping his hands together. "Thus concludes the cheesy feel good portion of this briefing. Let's get down to business."

Word had spread by this point, everyone there knowing where they were going, but only Rhys knowing what they were _doing_. The hour that followed was an elongated explanation of what Nym had earlier boiled down for him. Get to the crashsite, get whatever Intel one could find, and get out.

Mentions of KX-80 automated blaster rifles and the prospect of joyriding repulsorcrafts through the desert brought ooh's from the audience and even a twinge of excitement from Rhys. What did not excite him however, was the people who would be riding with him. Despite his own pep talk, he was having his misgivings about the group in front of him. Reti was no fighter, Velker was more concerned about surviving for his next pack of deathsticks than helping his surrounding squadmates, and Silus, while talented, was about as unproven as Revenant soldiers came.

A series of overhanging light ducts then flashed on, bathing the band of soldiers in crimson and bringing Rhys away from his concerns. They had moved from Briefing Room to drop point in the time of their discussion, now outfitted in goggles and robe-like protective gear, armed with the weapons they had earlier swooned over. All that stood between the group and the calamities of their mission was a thickened durasteel blast door, and a phrase, given reluctantly by their superior.

"Let's move out."

* * *

**Twenty Minutes Later**

**Kimogilan Sand Dunes**

It was over the blare of repulsors and whipping winds of sand that Rhys first heard them - the horn-amplified hunting calls of the Novos. At first, Rhys had considered their kind's announcement of their intentions to hunt foolish, surely that was counterintuitive. That was until he realized it wasn't a pronouncement to the hunted, but a deterrent to other hunters.

It would be an understatement to say he was weary of the Novos. Their culture represented the perfect influx of tradition and technocology, donning masks made of Kimogila skulls but reinforced with the plating of any ship unwise enough to land nearby. The rest of their garb served only to further that point, bits of circuitry intertwined with their well-woven robes and hides.

They prided themselves in their manifesto to live only off what the land gave them, considering whatever fell planet-side to be fair game in that pursuit. Case in point: the Imperial Frigate that had come cratering downwards just hours before.

"Stay alert Group, we've got a band of Roadeyes lurking near the ridge, 3 o'clock," Rhys' voice screeching over their comm units as their band of repulsorcraft jutted between two desert peaks. Roadeyes was a common tag for the Novos, the species' pulsing azure stare making it an easy choice.

"You really concerned about them, Dallows?" Velker questioned, casting his own goggle-protected glance in the general direction the Novos' hunting call was coming from.

"I'm more concerned that you guys will do something to _make me_ concerned about them."

"Come on, Rhys," Reti attempted to reason. "They're too busy worshiping the remains of some gundark that took a trip too close to the sun to cause any trouble for us."

"Wasn't it a Gammorean?" Silus then asked in a tone that hinted he was only half serious.

"No," Velker said. "It was definitely a Jawa -

"Kill the chatter," an annoyed Nym suddenly chimed in over the Comm, the Feeorin intent to listen in on the entirety of their mission. "You're out here to do a job, not criticize another species' deities."

"Apologies Boss," Velker responded. "I meant no disrespect to the Jawas. They're some of the hardest-working individuals I've ever met. They also give some damn good massages."

Their sand-buffeted radios crackled back to life moments after an awkward pause.

"You... You let a _Jawa_ give you a massage?"

"_Enough_."

The remainder of their journey was held in silence, Rhys only glancing back every once in awhile to ensure the marching Novos weren't gaining on them. Eventually this became too difficult to do, billows of sand rising around the quartet like a curtain. Their swoopbikes clung closer together as a result, each pilot having only archaic sensor readouts and the nearest craft to guide them. The old adage about a swoop being "an engine with a seat" appeared especially true for their transports.

All at once the sand cleared away, or more fittingly, was replaced by a new cause of annoyance - smoke. Bouts of coughing filtered across the radio, and Rhys had to cover his mouth to avoid the same fate. The smell of leaking fuel loomed in the air and indicated that they had reached their destination.

"Guess you weren't kidding about that burst of exhaust," Reti said to Silus over the blaring winds, all four of them dismounting their respective bikes.

"We're going to need a clear line of sight if we're going to want to be able to do anything," Rhy noted, hands clutching the sides of his goggles in an attempt to get a better view.

"No dice on that front, it's either sand devouring your hands and face or harmful carcinogens doing the same to your lungs - pick your poision," Velker said, not an ounce of humor in his voice.

"Your goggles have been outfitted with spectral intensifiers," Nym quickly explained. "Just use the dial on the side to change the view."

In an instant the smoke and sand had been filtered away, leaving a crossover of green and blue outlines, the two forming enough coherence for the Imperial frigate to become apparent several meters in front of them.

"Trippy..."

"This was thoughtful..." Reti murmured next, switching his goggles over to the correct overlay. "Would've liked it more if we got some better swoopbikes though, that leather seating really started to chafe my-"

"Okaaaaay," Rhys quickly interrupted. "Well, we're here. Everybody pop out your fusion cutters and get to work on cutting into the hull - doesn't look like there's an access hatch to use anymore."

The group did as requested, huddling over a patch of cracking metal with their torches of concentrated-plasma in hand. The half hour that followed was perhaps Rhys' most trying yet. Between the sand and smoke it was hard to get the torch's fluid to spark, yet alone catch long enough for the searing flame to do any damage.

"Alright guys, on the scale of ineptitude, it looks like this mission just graduated from drunken bantha herder to naked Gammorean."

Even Rhys couldn't stop himself from sighing in agreement. He had a feeling this was going to be a very long night.

**Two Hours Later**

**Central Control Room**

"We'll be camping out for the night, Nym...," Rhys' voice echoed, the tone of defeat ringing clear through the busy Command Center. "Knew we should've left earlier. It's getting dark and we're still just working on cutting ourselves in. These durasteel walls are thick enough that the Empire probably didn't even want themselves to see whatever the hell's inside."

Nym lay hanging off the side of a desk, a sigh pouring from his lips. In the background, a herd of technicians were running back and forth, overseeing a dozen other missions.

"Understood," Nym finally replied, pounding the desk in frustation before finally clicking his comm unit off.

"No luck with the frigate?" a well known female asked from a nearby terminal.

"No luck _anywhere_, I think the weather's finally started conspiring with the Empire," he responded, rubbing bloodshot eyes with his free hand.

"You need some rest," she said, noting the gesture.

"I'm only on my fifth cup of caf, I've got awhile still."

Clearly unswayed, she raised an eyebrow and said, "I'll keep an ear to the comms."

The pirate found a smile creeping across his face, knowing better than to argue with the female. Turning to face the dark skinned operator he said, "Thanks Vana."

The ensuing trip from Command Center to barracks was a short one - an intentional design choice. It wasn't long before the muscled Feeorin was climbing into one of the top bunks of the darkened chamber, pulling out his datapad and going back to work. Sometime later, it wasn't the rising sun awaking him, but a computerized speaker cutting into his eardrum.

"I hope you weren't planning on sleeping well," the voice began, its sound echoing from the comm that lay inches from his face.

"Who is this?" Nym whispered back, not wanting to awake any of the lurking cadets.

Veiled beneath the alterations of a voice fabricator, it was clear that no definite answer would be given. Slightly unnerved, he went to look at the ID tag on the comm's readout, only to see a slew of gibberish where a name should have been.

"It's an encrypted line, Nym," the drone-sounding speaker explained. "Try tracing me back and you'll end up on a kaadu farm somewhere in the Taanab System."

"What the hell do you want from me?"

"I want the access codes to your Ion Cannon."

"The Inferno Turret? Fat chance, pal. Thing's not even fully operational - should've asked last week."

_So I could've told you no..._

"But you're going to finish repairing it," the speaker interrupted his musings. "And finish quickly.

"I'm going to be doing a lot of things, none of them entail me listening to your shavit."

"Oh you will, but that's not all - your scout team."

"What about them?" Nym asked, his voice betraying none of the boiling rage he was now feeling.

"I want you get on the line with them."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll blow them and the frigate they're nearby off this side of the planet."

"You're bluffing," Nym scoffed. He'd been surprised at the man's knowledge about the frigate, but he had double checked the group's scanner readouts - absolutely clear, giving no credence to the man's threats.

"Am I? Aren't you the least bit curious why a pilot-less Imperial frigate opted to drop out of Hyperspace and crash just a few convenient clicks away from your base? That frigate's been laced with high-frag explosives Captain, if you do anything I don't tell you to do, I blow that frigate - and your nearby crew as a result - completely away."

The bout of unsettled silence that followed told all.

**Imperial Frigate Crashsite**

"Rhys, you there?"

Static followed for a moment, only furthering the panic that was held on one end of the line. Finally, a voice crackled to life on the other end.

"Can't talk, Nym. A bunch of Roadeyes finally decided to come out and play, safe to say we're going to have our hands full."

"No, RHYS-" But the former pilot had already ended the communication, turning his head back to where Reti and Velker were supposed to be working on cutting through the vessel's hull.

"You guys are doing it wrong again," Rhys said, watching as the cutting tool flickered in and out, its flame laying limp.

Reti relented at the statement. "Maybe we could just burst the front door open with some detpacks and -"

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Velker interrupted.

"Yeah? Well, I don't know if I should be taking advice from the guy that _enjoys_ Jawa-administered massages."

"They have small and fury hands! It's relaxing and -"

"Would you two just _shut up," _Rhys finally snapped, shuffling in between their feud for the fusion cutter. "No explosives," he ordered Reti, raising a finger threateningly. "We're here to search the frigate, which is kinda hard to do if there's nothing left of it."

He turned back around, readdressing the approach of multiple scrap metal-clad Novos.

"Silus, I need you to watch our backs, don't fire until you think you have to," Rhys ordered, gesturing across the expanse to the lumbering figures, their icy gazes lighting up the night's shroud.

The twenty-two year old gave a nod in affirmation, clicking the safety off his KX-80 and crouching onto the sands below. Both storm and sand had left, leaving a star-checkered night in their wake. Lurking between moon and star was the Ignis Nebula, its color having turned a deepening crimson, perhaps a harbinger for things to come.

The echo of sparks meeting air and the triumphant thud of durasteel colliding with sand then greeted his ears, causing him to turn back. A welcome sight was there to receive him, a jagged maw having been cut into the side of the Frigate's framework. Seeing his other squadmates sprinting inside propelled him forward, kicking up sand in his haste.

He turned back only once, to see the mass of Novos were now openly charging upon the quartet.

"Those bastards were probably just holding off until we got the thing open, " Reti's voice speculated from within the hull.

The four were left to huddle in the newly-cut hatchway, loading their rifles as the prospect of battle loomed larger. They were left wholly unaware of the danger that lay directly beneath them, beeping at intervals, ready to detonate at the the command of a madman light years away.


End file.
